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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564740">Sunlight Held Together With Water</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointoftheneedle/pseuds/thepointoftheneedle'>thepointoftheneedle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Investigative Duo, Journalist Betty Cooper, Only One Bed, Photographer Jughead Jones, Strangers to Lovers, Wine Country AU, camping smut, wine fraud investigation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:35:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointoftheneedle/pseuds/thepointoftheneedle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Betty has a commission.  It could be her big break but her photographer has let her down. And she can't even be mad about it.  Toni has a suggested replacement but he's more Grinch than gal pal. There are vineyards, camp fire cookouts and a trip to Yosemite. And a little smut.  It's an angst free zone for those of us for whom the day to day is angsty enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sangiovese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was meant to be a short meet cute kind of deal but I got too interested in wine and it expanded.  </p><p>I have attributed a photograph by one of my favourite photogs to Jug. The paddling pool image was actually taken by James Estrin. If you aren’t sure about how photography tells you as much about the space behind the lens as in front of it then you could start with his work.  </p><p>The title is from an aphorism attributed to Galileo "Wine is sunlight held together with water."</p><p>The lovely and talented aam-loves on tumblr made such a beautiful graphic for this. Do go and see! Thank you aam-loves!</p><div class="tumblr-post">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <a href="https://aam-loves.tumblr.com/post/615258429955653632/back-to-basics-im-gaining-inspiration-for-writing">https://aam-loves.tumblr.com/post/615258429955653632/back-to-basics-im-gaining-inspiration-for-writing</a><br/></p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the meeting Betty floated to the subway like a Disney princess.  She felt as if the hem of her skirt was being held delicately by tiny, singing bluebirds.  She confidently expected that little bunnies and fawns would line up with her next to the 8th Avenue line and wave their cute paws as her train pulled out.  She was aware that she was indulging in sickening whimsy but her story idea had been commissioned by Time Magazine so she was permitted some indulgence.  If the piece was good maybe there would be a coveted staff job and she could escape from the nightmare of poorly paid internships and the relentless grind of developing and pitching freelance ideas. A foot on the ladder was all she'd ever asked for and now she had one.  The grin on her face must have made the other commuters feel anxious.  She certainly had plenty of space around her all the way back to Brooklyn.</p><p>She began to work on the logistics for the trip as soon as she had double locked the apartment door behind her.  “Time” wasn’t prepared to upfront expenses so she’d have to work everything on a shoestring budget. There were flights for herself and for Toni, her photographer, then accommodation in the extortionate hotels of Napa Valley as well as a rental car and their meals.  The sums began to make her head ache but she had to speculate to accumulate and her career was worth the investment.  Still her bank account seemed to be haemorrhaging fatally.  Every dollar that she was splurging this afternoon had been scrimped and saved.  It represented cute outfits she hadn’t bought, cocktails that she had declined and restaurant meals that she had told Veronica that she was too tired to go out to eat.  Her battered travel mug testified to the artisanal cold presses she hadn’t drunk. All those packets of ramen in front of bad T.V. movies meant that now Betty Cooper could travel to wine country and write an article about a scandal which could rock the US vintner community.  It appeared that wine makers were buying in cheap grapes from outside Napa and passing them off as their own, mislabelling their wines and garnering a healthy profit through fraud.  She had been alerted to the story by her friend Veronica whose interest in wines and spirits was a consequence of the string of achingly fashionable and exclusive “speakeasy’ style bars she ran across the Eastern seaboard.  She had told Betty that she wasn’t going to serve her customers the “swill” that the California vineyards were producing and was, instead, switching exclusively to South American and Australian suppliers.  “This grape is not a cabernet B. Taste it!”  Betty did taste it and thought it was pretty damn good but she was prepared to be guided in this by her more cosmopolitan and cultured friend.  She did some research, found sources and began to build a case. </p><p>Betty sat pouring over hotel comparison websites and airline booking search engines until late into the night but eventually the clicks were performed and tickets and rooms reserved.  The hotels were the cheapest she could find which meant she and Toni would be in close quarters but they’d been frequent collaborators since junior year of their journalism degrees and they got on well.  They were even closer in recent months since Betty had introduced Toni to her cousin Cheryl and the women had fallen in love in a way that Betty had assumed only happened in romance novels. They’d spent almost every night together since the day they’d met and moved in together after dating for three weeks.   Betty imagined that the only problem with sharing hotel rooms with Toni would be giving her the privacy to sext her girlfriend. She typed an email to Toni confirming the dates for their trip next week and finishing with a series of excited emojis and then she went to bed, tired but optimistic for the first time in months.  Betty Cooper was finally on her way.</p><p>The next morning, having rewarded herself for her hard work by not setting the alarm, she was awoken by her phone.  She grabbed at it, blearily noting that it was Toni.  She guessed that she was calling to congratulate her on having the article commissioned so she accepted the call. Toni’s voice sounded less than composed which was unusual.  Ms Topaz was generally unflappable.  If Betty had needed someone to help her hide a body she would have called Toni first. “OK Ponytail.  Do you want the good news or the bad news or the “it’ll be fine” news?”  Betty considered for a moment before opting for the good news.  “OK, prepare yourself.  I’m getting married!” Betty squealed in response to this bombshell.</p><p>“Cheryl proposed? Oh my God! Is there a ring? When’s the big day?” Betty couldn’t have been happier for the couple.  Cheryl and Toni might even persuade her to put aside the cynical doubts she’d begun to entertain after too many boring dates and believe in true love.</p><p>“Well, that’s kind of the bad news.  We’re eloping.  My beautiful girl booked everything and we leave on Thursday.  Don’t worry, there’s going to be a huge party for all our friends when we get back, but what with her family being, well, incarcerated or deceased and my family being homophobic asshats except for gramps it just seems better to go for non-traditional.  So the Maldives, a beach ceremony and two weeks in a room that you can step out of into the sea looks pretty perfect.  But I can’t go to Napa.”</p><p>“Oh, oh well don’t worry Toni.  This is your wedding.  It is such great news.  Don’t give it a moment’s thought.”</p><p>“No, that’s the ‘it’ll be fine’ news.  When I got your email I started thinking about it and I have a solution.  I know a photographer.  He usually works the crime beat for the Times but I got in touch and he has some leave due so when I said he’d get a working holiday to California he said he’d do it.  He’s really talented.  I’ve known him forever and he’ll do a good job.  It’s just…”</p><p>“What?  He’s a creep, he’s handsy, he’s a misogynist pig?  What’s wrong with him?”</p><p>“No, nothing like that.  I honestly don’t know that he even really likes girls.” She giggled mysteriously at this remark. “He certainly never dates or anything.  He’s just…well a little bit hard to read.  Like I said I’ve known him for years but I never feel like I know what’s going on in his head.  He’s got a sense of humour but it’s pretty dark, he can be sarcastic, he’s a bit pretentious.  He’s complicated, I guess, but he’ll take great pictures, he’s available and he’ll do it for expenses.”</p><p>Betty agreed that she’d have to at least meet with Toni’s candidate but her head was whirling with the difficulties.  There was no way to afford more hotel rooms and for at least one of their stops there was only one room available.  She decided to shelve the practical issues until she’d met the mysterious man in question. If it was an obvious non starter she didn’t need to worry herself about sleeping arrangements. She took down his details, questioning the bizarre first name twice and then congratulated Toni again before she was passed over to the other bride-to-be. She told Cheryl that she expected a huge bouquet on their anniversary every year in gratitude for having introduced them and then felt the tears pricking in her eyes as her firecracker cousin told her sincerely that she had never felt so happy. “It’s a cliche cousin Betty but she really does make me a better person. So thank you. And I’m sorry about your vineyard story.  But the hobo might just surprise you. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”</p><p>She visited the New York Times website and searched his name. What came up was not, as Betty had anticipated, grim images of chalk outlines in dingy apartments. Instead there was a striking photograph of an African American woman, her arms around two little boys and tears streaming down her face. The caption told her the name of the woman and her boys and that their unarmed older brother had been shot by police officers. There was a picture of a courthouse, a knot of solicitous well wishers huddled around a notorious sex abuser while a woman in the foreground stood alone, her face set in hard, agonised lines. The photos made one consider the impact of crime rather than offering some sensationalist voyeurism. There were other photographs too. Apparently there had been an exhibition of non news images made by NYT staff photogs. His was a picture of some kids and their mother in a plastic paddling pool on the sidewalk outside a dilapidated house with other family members in a huddle on the stoop, an old mattress abandoned nearby.  It was a powerful picture of poverty, resilience, the power of the human spirit to overcome disadvantage and find joy. She felt excited at the prospect of working with such a talent. </p><p>Betty left it until after lunch to call Jones but she still got the distinct impression that she had awoken him from a  deep slumber. His voice sounded heavy with exhaustion and she assumed his Friday night had been spent at a bar or a club. Maybe he’d only gone to bed when she was waking up. “Mr Jones? Hi I’m Betty Cooper. Toni gave me your number. It’s about California.”</p><p>“OK Cooper.  When do we leave?”</p><p>“Well I thought we should meet, discuss the brief.  Don’t you want to know what I’m looking for?”</p><p>“Doesn't matter what you’re looking for.  I’m the eyes of the job.  You think, and type, I’ll look. I’d like to take a side trip to Yosemite when we’re there.  Traveller will always buy my landscape stuff but if you can’t accommodate that I’ll change my return flight and do it alone. Flight number?”</p><p>Betty felt infuriatingly like a chastened child and, intimidated by his manner, she gave him the flight details.  It wasn’t until she’d hung up that she realised that she hadn’t addressed the accommodation issue.  She decided that she’d just have to suck it up and when there wasn’t a room available she’d sleep in the rental car.  She didn’t sleep well anyway. She felt a little disappointed that instead of a fun trip with a girlfriend she was going to the golden state with the grinch but if the pictures were good then that was what really mattered. </p><p>She didn’t know what Squidward looked like so she didn’t expect to see him at the gate when she got there a week later but, just a moment or two before embarkation, there he was.  She was confident it must be him because of the hefty camera bag across his body.  He had a beanie pushed to the back of his head and he held his phone between his long fingers, boarding pass on the screen.  He wore jeans low on his slim hips and a tank under a flannel shirt.  His work boots were scuffed and trodden down but looked comfortable even for a long flight. He was tall, rangy and suntanned. His hair fell forwards messily in dark waves.  She could hear Veronica’s commentary as she observed him, “Now B, he certainly is a snack.” Betty thought it was a shame that he was so grumpy and she recalled Toni’s remark that he wasn’t interested in women.  That struck Betty as an unusual way to say that he was gay.  She found that she was watching him as he moved across the departure area only realising at the last moment that he was heading towards her.  “Hey, Cooper right?”</p><p>“Yes. How did you know?”</p><p>“Toni calls you Ponytail.”  He made a twirling gesture towards her head and she couldn’t help raising a hand to tighten the offending hairband. “Look, sorry if I was a bit terse on the phone the other day.  All nighter at the dock.  Fifteen illegals suffocated in a shipping container.  Kids, parents…you get the idea.”</p><p>“Oh God, that sounds horrifying.  I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Well let’s just say I could stand some sunshine and scenery.  And six hours of sleep on the way to it.” He made a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it attempt at a smile but it didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. </p><p>If she’d hoped for conversation on the flight she was sorely disappointed.  As soon as he took his seat he grabbed a scarf from an inside pocket, bundled a corner into a pillow, wrapped the rest of it around his head and went to sleep.  That was it for six hours. </p><p>On arrival he was no more chatty.  "Which rental sharks are we using?”</p><p>They headed towards the desk where he took the paperwork from her hand and, without even trying too hard, secured them an upgrade in five minutes flat.  She was glad that she wasn’t going to be spending her nights in a compact but the large SUV he deemed acceptable was larger than anything she’d ever driven. She noticed as they began to walk away from the desk that the check in girl had written her phone number on the docket.  “Call me if you have any problems,” she called after them, “Or if you don’t.”</p><p>“Does that happen a lot?” Betty asked.  She didn’t know why she felt aggrieved by the girl’s sexual assertiveness but it bothered her more than she liked to admit.</p><p>“What?” he asked, a perplexed look on his face.</p><p>“Getting hit on by random females at check in desks.” </p><p>“She wasn’t hitting on me.  She was just being nice. Friendly.” He snorted in dismissal of the very idea that it was unusual to be upgraded to a luxury SUV from a bottom of the range compact and given the operative’s personal cell number to boot.</p><p>“You can’t really be that oblivious.  It’s impossible.  I thought you saw everything.” she teased him gently.</p><p>Now he looked really confused. “But why would she be interested in me?  She was pretty wasn’t she?  He looked back over his shoulder to see her gazing after them, waving flirtatiously.  “Is she pretty?  I’m never really sure what counts.”</p><p>“She’s really pretty.  Why can’t you see that? Aren’t you interested?” He snorted and then laughed outright.</p><p>“No, I’m a weirdo Cooper.  I don’t like girls in that way.”</p><p>“Guys then.  You must be able to see if a guy is attractive.”</p><p>“No, I didn’t mean that I like guys.  I mean I don’t get that “she’s hot so I have to screw her and then find out if I like her” thing.  If I like a girl, kind of feel a connection, then sometimes I notice afterwards that she’s attractive.  I never see it before I know her.  They’re all just faces.  Interesting, boring, distinctive, generic, manipulated, natural, old, young…faces. Hey here we are.”  He knocked the SUV and stacked their bags in the trunk.  He held up the keys at her with a raised eyebrow asking if she wanted to drive but she waved a hand to indicate that she was happy for him to take the wheel.</p><p>As they pulled away she picked up the thread of the conversation. “So then, when you get to know a girl you find them attractive and get turned on by them?”</p><p>“Yeah, sometimes.  Like with Toni.  I liked her and then a long time later I realised that I was attracted to her but by then we kind of had gone past it.  We fooled around a bit but neither of us could get past being good friends so we dropped it.”</p><p>“You were with Toni.  She didn’t tell me that.”</p><p>“It was a very brief encounter.  We’re better as buddies.  The thing with me is that I don’t like many people and I need to like someone before I want them.  And then once I like them I kind of prefer to hold onto them as friends.  Just a lone wolf kind of guy I suppose. What about you Cooper? Some wholesome quarterback waiting for you back at home?”</p><p>“No, not my thing at all.  I went out with a quarterback in high school.  He turned out to be a sex pest who slut shamed girls for giggles.  The worst.  No I’m a bit like you I guess.  I like guys with a story to tell. But I can at least tell if they’re hot before I know the story.”</p><p>“Well, as we drive you point out the hot guys and girls to me and I’ll try to extrapolate some kind of sexiness algorithm, yeah?  I’m heading north here but do you want to GPS where we’re going first?”</p><p>Ninety minutes later they pulled onto a side road with a billboard that read Bianchi Family Vineyards.  Betty had spoken with Giulia Bianchi, the matriarch of the family, on the phone.  She was outraged by the behaviour of other wine growers and, what was more, she was prepared to go on record saying so.  Jughead pulled over and reached onto the back seat to grab his camera gear.  You can drive up Cooper.  I’ll get some shots.  The light’s pretty good and in thirty minutes I’ll lose it.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t we ask before you wander about taking pictures?” Betty was nervous about offending her source but Jughead grinned,</p><p>“It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.  Besides, according to you, I can just offer to sex her and she’ll give me anything I want.”</p><p>“Not exactly what I said Jones.  You’re hot but she’s a happily married woman of 70.  Some ladies will be immune to your charms.”</p><p>“Ha, but not you Cooper.  You think I’m hot.” This last was thrown back with a laugh as he swung his long legs out of the car and set off up a vine covered hillside towards some vineyard workers who were removing leaves from the plants.  Unfortunately, thought Betty as she slid across to the driver’s seat, he wasn’t wrong.  She couldn’t prevent herself from checking out his ass as he strode up the hill.  It was a great ass.</p><p>She pulled up in front of a Mediterranean style house two minutes later and two enormous fluffy white dogs ran down semi circular steps and barked and jumped excitedly around her as she climbed out.  “Luna, Lupo. Comportatevi bene!” said a bustling woman, emerging from the side of the house.</p><p>“Ms Bianchi?  Betty Cooper” Betty held out her hand over the bouncing powder puffs that were these animals. </p><p>“Giulia,” the woman corrected her, ignoring her offered hand and pulling her into an embrace, kissing her three times on alternate cheeks.</p><p>“Giulia, thanks so much for agreeing to meet me.  My colleague is taking some photographs.  I hope that’s OK.  He was worried about losing the light.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, that’s good.  The vineyard is beautiful at this time of day.  Now you’ve had a long drive.  You’ll eat with us, yes?  We can talk over a meal.  More civilised.”</p><p>“Well, we do have to drive to Sacramento tonight so I’m not sure…”</p><p>“La sciocchezza.  I’m sorry, that’s nonsense.  You will eat and drink wine with my family and then you’ll stay here tonight.  You can travel in the morning when you’re fresh.  We’re eating osso buco.  My son, Giorgio, is the chef.  Come, come, I’ll show you to a room.”</p><p>In the face of Giulia’s hospitality Betty was powerless.  Also she was relieved that she could avoid the difficulty and expense of acquiring another hotel room in Sacramento.  While her hostess left her to settle into a beautiful, light room with cool terracotta tiled floors and  gauzy drapes over the shutters she called the hotel and cancelled her reservation. By the time Jughead appeared in his tank top with his shirt tied at his waist, camera slung around his neck and his arms around the shoulders of two of the vineyard workers, she had changed into a light dress and was sitting with Giulia drinking a Bellini and munching salted almonds.  “Comfortable Cooper?”  he asked with a raised eyebrow as he approached.</p><p>“Well for the most anti social man in the world you’ve sure made friends fast,” she replied, gesturing towards his companions.  </p><p>“I’m irredeemably blue collar Cooper.  I understand people who work for their living.  Can’t get a handle on web designers and artisanal underwear manufacturers." His companions peeled off towards a small house at the edge of the courtyard and Jughead held out a hand to Giulia.  “Signora, I’m Jughead.  Your home is very beautiful.”</p><p>Giulia giggled.  Betty realised she’d been wrong when she said that a septuagenarian would be able to resist him.  She put her hand into Jughead’s and he kissed it like he was the smoothest operator on the west coast. Betty swigged the Bellini in exasperation. Then Luna and Lupo appeared from nowhere and Jughead was immediately on the ground wrestling with them as they rolled over him and wagged their tails until she was sure they would sprain them.</p><p>Giulia called her son to show him to a bedroom and while he went to wash up and unpack his things Betty questioned her about the wine business.  She was a proud and honest woman whose family had built its reputation on high quality vintages from named and authenticated vines.  She was angry that new wine makers were prepared to risk the reputation of Napa Valley wine makers to turn a quick buck.  Betty told her that Veronica had stopped buying California wines altogether and Giulia nodded sadly.  “That’s why I’m going to speak.  I know that the wine organisations will try to hurt my business but it’ll be too late unless we expose what they’ve been doing. My son plans to turn the vineyard into a hotel and restaurant when we’re gone. I hope it won’t hurt him and his wife and the bambinos.” Betty noted the names of the wine makers that the older woman considered to be the worst offenders and gave her word that she would do her best to bring the lies to light.</p><p>They ate an incredible meal with the Bianchis.  First there were olives and wafer thin slices of ham with delicious bread and artichoke hearts in oil.  She looked over at Jughead as he piled slice after slice of ham onto his plate and worried that he didn’t realise how many courses there were likely to be.  He caught her concerned look and grinned.  “Don’t worry Cooper I’ll leave room for the formaggi e frutta.” He produced his camera from under the table and focused quickly before clicking the shutter release and crossing his eyes in her direction mocking her outraged expression.  Frequently through the meal she would hear the shutter click.  He never seemed to stop.  When Giulia tried to fill his wine glass she noticed that he smiled at her and placed his hand over the glass with a shake of his dark curls.  Their hostess looked at him and then quietly called for her daughter-in-law to fetch a soft drink.  Then they ate gnocchi with tomato.  Betty could have ended the meal there and felt replete but the osso buco was a revelation.  The sauce was rich with the bone marrow and the citrus of the gremolata was delicious. Jughead was then able to do justice to a salad, fruit and cheese and panna cotta but Betty needed to lie flat in a dark room.  She hadn’t refused the wine and was light headed and relaxed. </p><p>After dinner she sat, rather drunk, on a warm stone terrace with Jughead, looking out over fields of vines in the moonlight. “You don’t drink,” she said.</p><p>“Good observation,”he replied.</p><p>“Are you an alcoholic?”</p><p>“Wow, be a bit more direct why don’t you?” he laughed.  “No, but I easily could be.  My dad and my grandfather both were.  I know I have an addictive personality.  I tend towards depression.  So I decided to only get addicted to good things.  I’m compulsive with the camera.  I read pretty obsessively.  I go to the movies at least twice a week and I never drink booze.”</p><p>“I think you’re interesting Jones,” Betty confided with only a slight slur.  “You are an interesting man.”</p><p>“Thank you Cooper.  You’re an interesting woman.”</p><p>“Am I hot yet though? Do you like me enough to think I’m pretty?”</p><p>“Well, I can see that you meet western ideals of beauty.  You’re slim with proportionately large breasts, your features are regular, you have big, clear, symmetrical eyes.  Your brows don’t meet in the middle.  Your nose is straight and your lips are full.  You have blonde hair which seems to be widely considered the best colour.  So you’re beautiful. I just don’t know you well enough to feel it...yet. What about me?  Am I interesting enough to be sexy?”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re pretty sexy.  You’re a good shape for a man. Tall and slim and broad shouldered. You have stupidly attractive hair.  The curls are a very good look.  There’s a reason why men are described as tall, dark and handsome.  Dark and saturnine.  Your eyes are pretty too.  Blue is unusual for dark haired guys.  Your lips are good.  Sensual.  You have a great ass. But best of all you’re clever and kind and you like animals.  Sexy.”</p><p>He was laughing at her properly now. “Come on Cooper.  You’ve embarrassed yourself enough.  Let’s put you to bed with a glass of water and two Tylenol.  You’re going to need them.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cabernet Sauvignon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning Betty did need the Tylenol.  She went to Jughead’s room first because she knew she needed to apologise to him but she wasn’t sure if she also needed to say sorry to her hostess.  “I’m so sorry Jones.  It was really inappropriate. I’m totally embarrassed.”</p><p>“I’m not Cooper. You were being real.  I wish people said the stuff they think more often.  And you didn’t say anything that I could be offended by.  You said I had a great ass. Kind of you to notice. And you said I like animals.  Which I do.  Please let’s make this a bonding experience.  And since I don’t drink, you know I’ll always be your wingman if you hit it a little too hard.  You were nothing but the perfect guest with the Bianchis who adore you.  Stop stressing.”</p><p>Betty thanked Giulia and her family effusively and Jughead promised to send them prints of the photos that he thought they’d like most.  As they were about to leave Giulia pulled her to one side and whispered, “Don't let him slip between your fingers. He's worth holding onto.” then she winked.  Betty flushed with embarrassment and tried to explain that she and Jones were just colleagues, that they barely knew each other but Signora Bianchi waved aside her protests. “It’s a match.  I can tell.”</p><p>They drove through wine country towards their next stop, pulling over occasionally when Jughead saw a picture that could help tell her story. Eventually they passed a sign that told them they had reached Acuity Winemakers and Betty turned into a long driveway between industrial buildings.  There was no Italianate ranch-house here.  It was a utilitarian place, purely and entirely.  They pulled up in front of an ugly temporary office building where a sign indicated the reception area and Betty stepped inside while Jughead took photographs quickly and without fuss before putting away the camera and reaching for a different instrument which he slung over his shoulder. She asked to speak to Mr Brandon, one of the names that Giulia had mentioned with distaste the night before, and offered the business card that she had obtained from Time when she secured the commission. She was asked to wait and told that he would be with her shortly.  When she stepped back outside to wait she found Jughead in a quiet altercation with a man in overalls who looked like an extra in a Bond film, spotted in the villain's lair in the final act.  Jughead was saying that a photograph of an office unit could not be considered industrial espionage and the other man was threatening to call the cops.  Jug shrugged his shoulders and gave the man his camera and showed him the delete menu to wipe the memory card.  Betty realised how smart he had been to shoot and swap cameras as soon as he grasped the vibe of the place.  Then Mr Brandon was with them.  Betty explained that she was writing a piece on the modern wine industry for Time and wondered if she could have a tour and perhaps an interview. Jones asked if he could wander the site to take pictures.  Betty’s request was accepted, Jughead’s was refused.  She murmured to him “If only the owner was a lady,” and he grinned at her. Brandon insisted that “her” photographer could only accompany her and take portrait shots. </p><p>The tour took about five minutes.  They were shown a space decked out in yards of stainless steel and Brandon gestured towards fermenters, de-stemmers, tanks and presses as well as a warehouse like space filled with barrels.  He seemed pretty uninterested in the whole process. Betty asked if she could meet the viticulturist or the head winemaker but Brandon told her they had an operations manager, him, and an executive officer who was at a shareholders meeting in San Francisco.  She asked to see the vineyards and he said that he was sorry but that wouldn’t be permitted for “reasons of operational security.”  He didn’t look sorry.  When she asked about his history in winemaking he told her that he came from a financial analysis background.  When she asked which wines he enjoyed personally he told her that he preferred scotch and laughed as if he had made a joke.  Betty hated him. </p><p>Brandon made it clear that they had outstayed their welcome by walking them back to the SUV and shaking hands with Betty in farewell. Jug walked around the vehicle ignoring the outstretched hand Brandon offered him.  Betty had a flashback to the grin on his face the night before as he walked back from the vines with the two workers and her heart lurched at the fact that he simply refused to dissemble.   They drove away in silence. “Well he’s an absolute dick. And you need to tell the world that fact.” Jug muttered as they turned back onto the main highway. </p><p>“But how do we prove it?” Betty asked emphatically.</p><p>"Well, first of all you pull over just off the road here."  She did as she was told and Jug went into the trunk and found a small shoulder bag that was packed in with his camera gear.  He crouched at the side of the road and then stood holding what looked like a tiny spaceship and a retro video game controller.  “Drone,” he explained, connected his phone to the controller and set the spaceship on the ground.  Suddenly with a whirr of rotor blades the drone was off.  He beckoned her over to watch with him, shielding his phone screen from the California sun with his hand.  The images beaming back from the tiny device were incredibly sharp and clear. He was piloting it over the buildings they had already seen and then onto where the vineyards lay.  Losing altitude a little they could see that there was no-one amongst the vines and the leaves had not been cut back so the grapes wouldn’t be getting the full sunshine they needed.  </p><p>“He needs a viticulturist,” Betty observed pertly.  Because the hillside was so deserted the drone could descend almost to the top of the vines.  The rows were unweeded and unloved.  It was as if the terroir was unimportant to the growers.  The Bianchis had spoken of their terroir in hushed tones.  It had an almost mythical significance for them.  The inconsistencies and anomalies of climate, the minerality of the soil, the grape variety, their tending of the plants were what made their wines unique, gave them their identity.  Brandon simply didn’t give a shit.  Betty knew it was because wine was just a commodity to him, a product like any other. As they stood there a lorry turned up the access road and Jug manipulated the drone into position to observe its contents from a sufficient distance for safety.  When the back doors of the lorry were opened grapes began to fall from the container. Betty gasped at the brazenness of the con.  She noted the registration of the truck and Jug saved his footage, brought the drone back and packed it efficiently into its bag and they drove off towards Yountville, their next destination.</p><p>They pulled into the parking lot at their hotel and Betty began to look uncomfortable. “OK look Jug, here’s the thing.  I booked the hotel for Toni and me and then you took Toni’s place and…well …”</p><p>“Are you saying we’re roomies Cooper?” He was grinning at her so she gained confidence.  </p><p>“So I couldn’t get another room here and everything else in town is like $450 dollars a night or more.  It’s just crazy expensive. Anyway I’m happy to let you have the room and I can bunk down in the car.”</p><p>“Cooper, has anything about the way that I’ve behaved so far on this trip made you believe that you aren’t safe with me? Do you have even a moment’s doubt?  Because if you do then I’m a fuckwad and I’m sleeping in the car.  If not, well we’ll just share the room.  Obviously providing you can keep your hands off the merchandise.”  He smiled at her and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her reply.</p><p>“I absolutely know you won’t lay a finger on me Jones.” She was working hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she said this. “I’m really grateful for you not making a big drama out of this.  I am sorry.  I just can’t afford to get into any more debt right now.  Freelancing is a bitch.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it Coop. C’mon, let’s pretend to be newlyweds and see if we can get an upgrade.”</p><p>They secured the upgrade by virtue of Jug calling her Mrs Jones and her giggling and hiding her face against his chest.  It was a nice chest, very taut and extremely warm.  It smelled good too, like the vineyard with the sun on it.  They checked into a very classy suite which had a huge four poster bed and a sofa.  He grabbed a pillow and a blanket and claimed the sofa despite her protests that he should have the bed since it was her that had failed to provide adequate accommodation. “Betty, I spent most of my high school years sleeping on a couch in a trailer or in a janitor’s closet.  This feels like coming home.”</p><p>She stared at him to see if he was serious.  Apparently he was. </p><p>Later, after a meal which would have been expensive even if Jughead hadn’t eaten what Betty would normally have considered food for six people, they retired to their room where Betty typed up her notes and Jughead edited images. Once the drone footage was on a large screen he could see that the vines were in bad shape. He called Betty over to see.  Even though it was peak growing season many of the leaves were yellowing and falling. Most of the grapes they could see were shrivelled rather than plump and swollen like the ones they had seen at the Bianchi's. Jug grabbed a still which showed a diseased plant and Betty texted it to Giulia. The reply came back almost immediately. “Pierce’s Disease- no cure. Grub up the vines and burn before it spreads. Viticulturist should inform neighbours. Real bad!” Betty called her brother Charles and read him the registration number of the truck they had seen and asked him for an address.  When Jug looked at her enquiringly she told him that her brother was an FBI agent and that he definitely hadn’t just heard her make an illegal information request.</p><p>Betty and Jug sat late into the night discussing what they had learned.  It looked like Brandon had useless, dangerously diseased vines and consequently he was buying in inferior grapes and mislabelling his product.  Betty would have to put those allegations to him to give him a right to reply before going to press and she was hoping that Jug would come with her when she did it rather than taking off to Yosemite. She didn’t fear for her safety because she knew she could handle herself but she’d feel more confident with backup.</p><p>Jughead was getting more interested in the narrative now so she decided to level with him. “So I want to go to another vineyard locally tomorrow.  Then I’m going to need to loop back around to Brandon and challenge him with what we’ve learned.  That’ll be Friday’s job.  Our return flights are booked for Sunday but is that enough time for Yosemite?  I could reinterview Brandon on my own but…”</p><p>“No, that’s not a good idea.  You need a witness in case he gets out of hand.  I can take the car when we're done on Friday night and then drive back Sunday early, pick you up on the way past and be in San Fran for the flight in the early evening.  That’ll give me two sunsets and a sunrise in Yosemite and the weather seems set fair so the light ought to be good.  It works.”  She smiled her thanks and they called it a night.  Betty lay rigid in the huge empty bed, trying not to imagine Jughead standing up from the couch where she could hear him snoring gently and stalking over to her, sweeping back her hair behind her shoulder and kissing her neck, lifting her pyjama shirt off her and taking her breasts in his large hands.  Kneeling on the bed and pushing her back onto the mattress as he put his weight on top of her…She shook herself and got up, going to the bathroom and drinking two large glasses of water, splashing cold water on her wrists, trying to calm her frantic blood. Back in bed she found her battery powered reading light and, sighing with self reproach, found her page and began to read.    </p><p>The next day they were on the road bright and early, heading for the “Do Not Adjust Your Set Winery.” On the way Charles returned Betty’s call and told her that the van they had seen was from the Milenelle Winery in Oregon. Betty thanked him and googled the vineyard.  It grew only Pinot Noir apparently. She was still reading when the sign which announced that they had reached their destination appeared.  It was in a vivid neon graffiti style which caught Jughead’s interest and he jumped out to take a picture.  They drove up to the main buildings together where three young guys bundled out to meet them with fist bumps and back claps.  The trio were trying to rewrite the rules of winemaking.  Two of them were African American, the third, a white guy whose skin was patterned liberally with tattoos, had been brought up on a vineyard in California.  They questioned Betty and Jug about their wine experience thus far and they raved about the Bianchis’ hospitality. One of the guys said  “Ah Giulia.  She’s great but it’s such a traditional operation.  You could lift up that property and put it down in Tuscany without changing a thing.  This is the new world baby.”</p><p>The three guys were keen that they should walk the terroir with them before they answered questions, Jug falling behind to shoot pictures and then catching up and running ahead to capture different angles. As they went they told Betty their wine history.  Trey and Terry were brothers from L.A.  Their father was a physician, their mother an attorney. “We are two of the most stereotypical middle class guys you could ever meet but you should see what happens when we order a good bottle of wine in a restaurant. Oh my God, the drama!”</p><p>“That time you told a sommelier that that Malbec was corked!  Betty, he literally said, “No sir, that’s just what red wine tastes like.” And it was obviously corked. Like the smell of wet dog coming off it. So we made him drink a big old swig and he near about threw up!”</p><p>“Yeah so our Daddy liked wine but it was kind of this transgressive thing for black folks.  We got interested in how you make it and right though college we were making these evil brews in our closets or in friend’s basements or whatever.  And then we met this dude here, with all the know how that we lacked, trying to be a DJ and we said, let’s just do it.  Let’s buy a parcel of land and make wine.  But we don’t want to make the wine that the old Italian mommas are making.  That’s their path.  That’s authentic for them.  We have to do something else.”</p><p>“So we mix it up.  We blend our varieties, experiment with fermentation.  There’s no sacred tradition.  We’re having fun, seeing what we like, trusting our palates.”  They had a mission to make wine accessible and available to young people from many backgrounds.  They wanted to pitch a moderate price point and make wine that was good when you bought it rather than when it was retrieved from a dusty cellar by your grandkids.  They all seemed like good objectives to Betty who was herself intimidated by the aura of esoteric knowledge that seemed to accompany wine lists.</p><p>Betty began to ask them about how they made it clear to their customers that their wine wasn’t produced from one source or even one variety of grape and they explained that their labels said “American wine fermented in Napa Valley,” even though they could use California as the appellation of wine origin for most of their wines because almost all of their grapes came from the state.  “But what we want to sell is our taste, our vibe, what we’ve chosen and blended.  So we make it real clear that this is not a traditional wine experience.  And it works.  We can’t meet demand.” This was Wesley, the wine kid of the group. “I never thought I’d move back into wine because it seemed stuffy and irrelevant but this is exciting.  We’re making wines for people who are new to wine.  Come and taste some.” </p><p>They spent almost two hours on a shaded terrace, Betty cautiously tasting wines, remembering to spit most of them out, Jug taking pictures of the guys in their natural habitat.  He turned down the first glass he was offered with a “I don’t dare to, guys, sorry” and they shoulder bumped him sympathetically and produced a bottle of water from a fridge and let him be.  </p><p>Betty and Jughead returned to their hotel room and worked until the evening when hunger drove them out for affordable sustenance.  Jug seemed to have a plan, he’d taken a couple of spare blankets from the hotel room and now he dragged her into a convenience store, grabbing bread, steak, big juicy Italian tomatoes and a gallon bottle of water as well as a package of paper napkins.  Then they were in the car and away. She had no idea where they were going but the scenery was stunning and the sun was just descending among the hills, dousing everything in a golden light.  “I begin to see why you are always talking about the light.  This is gorgeous.” She observed as he drove. </p><p>“Golden hour.  I like the sort of bright directional light you get in the daytime somewhere like this but golden hour makes it almost impossible to shoot bad pictures.” Twenty minutes later he pulled into a parking lot and grabbed their groceries and his camera bag and threw her the blankets and they started to climb a hill.  </p><p>“Do you even know where we’re going Jug?” panted Betty as she tried to keep up with his much longer stride.</p><p>“I noticed this hill when we passed earlier today.  I thought at the time that it would get good evening light.  Criminal not to check it out.”  At the top of the hill there was a rocky outcrop looking over the valley for miles.  Jughead scrounged along the treeline and found twigs and a few dry branches and, using some of the napkins for tinder, made a serviceable camp fire on the rock in less than ten minutes.  He produced a bottle of wine that she hadn’t seen him buy and held it out to her.  “Screw top,” he grinned.  “Giulia would have a fit!”</p><p>Rummaging in his camera bag he produced some metal skewers and ran two through each of the steaks. He cut the tomatoes with a wicked looking pocket knife.  Betty watched him in silent admiration. “OK mountain man, where did you learn how to do all this?”</p><p>“Like I said, I had some troubles growing up.  I was homeless for a while and even when I was at home with my Dad, he was drinking and I might have to clear out at a moment’s notice.  So I raised myself.  I ran with a gang for a while for protection but I was a loner really.  A life like that teaches you self reliance at the very least. I learned how to make a fire when I was sleeping in the projection shack of a closed down drive in.  You work out how to cook pretty fast if no-one is going to do it for you.  Mind you I generally wasn’t cooking good rib eye then!”</p><p>“Jug, I’m so sorry you went through all that.” Betty’s heart hurt when she thought about the teenage Jughead, crouched over a campfire, hungry and scared.  </p><p>“It’s fine Betts.  It is what it is.  People have it worse. And I got a full ride college scholarship because I was in the system and considered underprivileged.  That saved me.  I got to learn about art and about the importance of getting good information to the public and it got me into a career that I’m proud of.  So all good.  We have to wait for the fire to burn down before we can cook so I’m going to take a few shots, if you’re OK.  Just keep an eye on it, water’s there for emergencies. We don’t want it to get out of control and burn down these people’s lives because we wanted a steak.”</p><p>He strode off with the camera, squatting on his haunches, climbing some of the larger rocks and firing the shutter at irregular intervals while Betty gazed into the fire and thought about the different roads that had led her and this intriguing man to the top of this hill on a summer evening.  There were so many chances and diversions that would have meant that she would have never met him.  For some reason the thought made her want to cry.  Eventually, as the sky turned from pink and orange to indigo and she pulled one of the blankets round her shoulders he returned with a smile and touched her hair as he approached the fire. She responded to his fingertips as if they were electrical contacts. It was the first time he’d touched her affectionately.</p><p>She sipped wine from the bottle while he raked the glowing embers of the wood and balanced his skewered steaks over them.  After a few minutes he passed her a hunk of bread with the meat sliced on top, alternated with the juicy slabs of tomato. Given the simplicity of the meal she was amazed and impressed at how delicious it was. “Well aren’t you full of surprises Jones?”  He smiled back at her, grabbed his camera and took her picture. He didn’t talk for the sake of it, was perfectly content to be in his own space and let her be in hers and she found she valued that. If this had been a date she would have said it was perfect. She recalled the last time Veronica had set her up, the nice guy she’d found for her, his solicitousness as he tried to make sure she had a good time, pulling out her chair, standing when she left the table for a moment, calling the waiter to refill her water glass.  It had felt suffocating. He’d done nothing wrong and yet she had no interest in him at all. He had no story. Jughead had a history, had he said a gang? He’d made himself an artist, he was passionate about his work, he had strong views. But this wasn’t a date.</p><p>When they got back to the hotel he showed her a few of the edited photographs. She was speechless. Somehow he was able to convey the essence of the three businesses that they had seen in these images. There was a photo of the vineyard workers at the Bianchi place. It looked like an old painting, their sleeves rolled over strong arms, the light dripping from them like honey, the fruit heavy on the vines. She could almost taste its sweetness. An image from today showed Trey, amongst the grapes, gesticulating wildly, his face beautiful in its animation as he talked about wine. Wes stood just to one side smiling in the bright midday sun, a tattoo of a vine on his arm. There was such joy and passion in the image. Then there were the shots of the Brandon place, a few vines glimpsed through a silo door, Brandon in his suit, standing in a warehouse, a shadow bisecting his face. Cold steel and hard angles. Betty looked at Jughead, amazed. “These are incredible Jug. They’re true but they’re not just documenting these places. I can see your feelings here. I can see how much you like Trey but you fear that he might be over optimistic. You love the Bianchi place but you think its time is running out. Obviously you hate Brandon but you’re a little scared that it’s what will win aren’t you?”</p><p>“Well a great photographer once said that the most important part of a camera is the twelve inches behind it.  What I’m selling isn’t my ability to press the shutter release. It’s the vision. What isn’t there is as important as what is. Although I’m  arrogant about the fact that I can tell you a shutter speed by instinct for pretty much any light conditions.” He was clearly pleased that she was pleased. “Here, what about this one?” He brought up the photo that he had shot of her on the hilltop and she gasped. It was the best picture of herself she’d ever seen. She was always conscious of her own flaws but in this picture she thought she looked beautiful. The blanket around her shoulders in gold and orange, the light from the fire reflecting on her skin, the remains of the sunset, the shadowy valley beyond. </p><p>“Wow, thank you Jug, that’s so lovely. Can I have that?”</p><p>“I’ll print it for you when we get back. I’m not letting you ruin it by printing it on a crappy ink jet. I have some professional pride.” He grinned. “It’s a good likeness.”</p><p>She used the bathroom to get ready for bed but when she came out she found the room empty. He’d left a note on her pillow that said “Gone to get a little fresh air. Don’t wait up.” She felt a little desolate and had to admit that she’d spent an extra minute fixing her messy bun and making sure her pyjamas looked cute on the off chance that he might sweep her up in his arms and ravish her on his couch. She wondered if he was off to the hotel bar to pick up a girl but she thought that she knew him better than that. An hour later as she lay awake in the darkness she heard him slip into the room and there was a rustle and a clank as he took off his jeans by the couch. She couldn’t help that she licked her lips even though she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.</p><p>The next morning she called Brandon while they sat at the breakfast table. She told him there were a couple of points of clarification she needed and then she would stop bothering him. He agreed to meet for thirty minutes at 11am. They lingered over coffee and she asked Jug if he’d had a good walk the night before. He looked at her carefully before he spoke. “You remember what I asked you when we became roomies Cooper?”</p><p>“You asked if I felt unsafe with you. I don’t Jug. I don’t feel unsafe at all.”</p><p>“Yeah well, you should. I had to get out because there was a very real risk that I was going to overstep the mark.  So I went for a walk and calmed down. It’s a good thing I’m going to Yosemite tonight because otherwise I’d be sleeping in the car. I barely closed my eyes last night.” Betty couldn’t look away from those eyes, they were so intense and totally focused on her. </p><p>“I wish I’d known Jug. You didn’t need to go for a walk. I could have helped you with what you were feeling. You could have helped me out too. I really haven’t been sleeping well at all.”</p><p>She raised an eyebrow and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in what she hoped was a suggestive expression and he exhaled explosively and laughed. “Cooper I never usually get hot and bothered over a girl. You’re an enigma.”</p><p>As if by agreement they left the conversation on the back burner while they drove out to Acuity.  Betty was glad.  She certainly didn’t want to arrive at an important professional meeting feeling impossibly turned on by her colleague.  She needed her wits about her.  That didn’t mean however that she hadn’t sneaked glances at him as he drove them back in the direction they had travelled two days ago.  He was stupidly gorgeous and she wondered at the fact that, while she had thought he was handsome before, she hadn’t really appreciated the gloriousness that was Jughead Jones.  His hair flopped forward into his eyes and he pushed it back impatiently with his hand.  It was a beautiful hand, long, graceful fingers adorned with heavy steel rings.  He had a woven leather bracelet around one wrist which only served to emphasise its sinewy elegance.  He must have felt her eyes on him and he glanced at her from his focus on the road ahead.  His eyes were almost turquoise today in the bright sunlight.  “Thirsty much Coop?” he teased.  </p><p>“Shut up Jones.  You’re not so hot.” He laughed and poked out his tongue at her which completely failed to quell the thirst he had correctly diagnosed.</p><p>They arrived and pulled up outside the reception area just before their appointment time and Brandon appeared and ushered them into a meeting space with a large table.  Jug fiddled with his camera while she asked some preliminary questions. He confirmed that the wine they produced had the origin appellation Napa Valley meaning that at least 85% of the grapes were grown there. He further confirmed the varietal that they used was exclusively Cabernet Sauvignon.  Betty then asked him to comment on the fact that she had photographic evidence that his Cabernet grapes had Pierce’s disease. He began to lose his temper at once and Betty was relieved that she hadn’t come alone to the encounter. This needed to be documented properly. When she told him she also had evidence that he was bringing in grapes from Oregon he told her the interview was over and that if she printed any of this he would sue her personally. “Mr Brandon. They aren’t even Cabernet grapes.  They’re Pinot Noir.  What you’re making isn’t Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, you’re making, at best, Pinot Noir from Oregon and probably that’s being generous.  I have a friend who really knows wine.  She’d call it swill.”</p><p>She saw the exact moment when he lost control.  He launched towards her, there was the click of a camera shutter, she ducked the backhanded blow, stepped towards her assailant rather than flinching away and brought her knee up sharply.  She was pleased to have finally got her money’s worth from her self defence classes as he bent double over the boardroom desk in response to the agonising pain she had just inflicted on his groin and she grabbed an arm, twisting it up his back.  The blood was rushing in her ears but she still heard Jug’s shutter clicking furiously. “Brandon, you are a fraud and a creep and now we have pictures of you attacking a member of the fourth estate who called you on your shit.  You are done and done, dude. Maybe clear your locker?”</p><p>He was still gasping as they left the room, Betty pulling Jug by the arm as he tried to return to “knock his head off.” </p><p>“Jug, you did exactly the right thing.  The pictures are worth any amount of wailing on him.  Did I look like I needed a big strong guy to stand up for me?”</p><p>“Cooper you are absolutely a badass.  Remind me never to cross you.”</p><p>As they drove away Jug kept apologising for not leaping to her defence.  "I actually thought he was going to connect with the first blow but when I saw he was trying to hit like an old lady I kind of thought you’d rather have the picture than have me stop him.  But I feel horrible.  I was standing there taking pictures while a woman was almost getting beaten.  That’s just not in the bro code at all.”</p><p>“Jug, I keep telling you, it was the right call.  Even if he’d landed it I’d much rather have the evidence.  It’ll really sell the story.  Let’s hope it’s up to your usual high standard.”</p><p>“Well I’m not a sports photographer so I didn’t have the fastest speed but I think a little motion blur might be just the atmosphere we want.  I want to keep the ones of you Lara Crofting on his ass for my personal files.  So unbelievably hot.”</p><p>“Hey, I’ve made it to hot finally!  I feel validated.”</p><p>“You know you’re hot.  If I wasn’t headed off to Yosemite tonight I would be going all out to seduce you. Not that I have any skills whatsoever in that direction.  It’d pretty much be “Hey Cooper, wanna get it on?” and that’s my move.”</p><p>“Jughead.  If you think after that enticing come-on that I am letting you go anywhere without me you are very sorely mistaken.  If you’re going to Yosemite, I’m going to Yosemite.”</p><p>"Really?  Yosemite then?  You sure?"</p><p> "Very sure." she grinned back at him.</p><p>There was a long drive during which she couldn’t stop looking at him and imagining how he would look when she finally got him undressed.  She felt hot and uncomfortable and her belly was fizzy as if she’d swallowed a swarm of bees. She kept considering asking him to pull over so she could kiss him but then she imagined how it would feel to have to drive another hour once that’d happened.  It would be torture.  She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as much as she wanted Jughead Jones.  She’d definitely never wanted a man like this. Eventually he pulled over next to a camping store just inside the National Park. He turned to her and looked at her seriously.  “I’m going in to rent gear.  How many tents do we need?”</p><p>“One,” she replied decisively, mirroring his serious expression. </p><p>“Sleeping bags? Two singles?  One double?”</p><p>“The double please.” She couldn’t maintain the seriousness in her state of keyed up excitement so she hid her face and giggled.  </p><p>“Is this the same woman that I saw beat a guy up a few hours ago?” he muttered to himself as he swung himself out of the car. </p><p>He emerged a few minutes later carrying two large bags and slipping something small into the pocket of his jeans.  She very much hoped it was a pack of condoms.  Now the idea was in her mind she began to imagine what it would be like to be out in the wilds of Yosemite with Jughead but without acceptable birth control.  It just couldn’t be allowed to happen. “Jug?”</p><p>“Yep.” he replied, his jaw looking a little tense.</p><p>“Did you buy rubbers?”</p><p>He flushed crimson.  “Was that really presumptuous? I didn’t mean to imply…”</p><p>“No, I was checking.  If you'd said no I'd be going in there to get them.” Now she was scarlet too. They caught each other’s eyes and burst into helpless laughter. </p><p>Jug ignored the campsites and pulled over near a quiet track.  They grabbed the gear and hiked for twenty five minutes.  He clearly knew his way around but this was Betty’s first camping trip except for when she’d tried to sleep overnight in a blanket fort in the back garden when she was eight. She’d been indoors by ten, snuggling into her own bed. Jug put the tent together while she tried to copy how he had made a fire on the hilltop the night before.  He came over and approved her work before handing her his lighter. “You’re a quick study Betts.”  Soon they had a shelter and a cooking fire and they looked at each other nervously, the air between them heavy with tension.</p><p>“I’m feeling sort of awkward” she admitted.</p><p>“Me too. Let’s cook.”</p><p>He’d bought supplies in the camp store and he unpacked bread and coffee, cheese and eggs, chocolate chip cookies and marshmallows.  “Stick cooking at its finest coming up Cooper. I didn’t buy wine.  I wanted you sober.”</p><p>She gasped at that and realised the nerves were gone, replaced by furious desire.  “Cook later,” she whispered and leaned towards him.  He read the sign and put one of his hands on her neck and scooped her hair up with the other.  Then he was kissing her with such heat that she felt lightheaded.  His lips were soft and the pressure was decisive but not demanding.  His tongue was tracing along her bottom lip and then, as she opened her mouth, she felt him gasp softly. It made her smile against his lips and he pulled back to look at her.  “I don’t do this a lot Betts.  Tell me if it’s bad.”</p><p>“It’s good Juggie.  It’s so good. Do it some more.” They kissed next to the fire for a long time, until the embers had burned down enough for him to put marshmallows onto twigs to make s’mores and to construct grilled cheese sandwiches which he placed over the embers, balanced on forked sticks.  They ate and kissed and talked until the fire had almost cooled and then they crawled into the tent.  He had a camping lantern which he lit and turned down low.  </p><p>“I’d like to undress you Betts.  Is that OK?” he whispered and she nodded solemnly. He began to unbutton her shirt so slowly that she thought she might go mad.  Partly to distract herself and partly to make him move faster she kissed him behind his ear, running her fingers through the dark waves of his hair. He began to breathe more heavily and then his hands were on her breast and his lips were at her collarbone, moving steadily downwards.  He looked up at her, hesitant blue eyes serious through the messy curls.  “Is this what you want Betts?  Are you sure?”</p><p>“I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more. You’re amazing.”</p><p>“I’m nothing special.  You’re the amazing one.  You’re so beautiful, I feel it now.”<br/>
Then he was lifting her breasts from the cups of her bra, kissing and licking her, humming a little to himself in admiration of her and she was relaxing into the sensations, her mind slowing and just responding to him. He unhooked the bra and threw it across the tent and lay her down, supporting his weight on one elbow as he continued to kiss her. </p><p>“Jug?” she murmured. He looked at her, his eyes soft and dark.  “Take off your clothes.  I want to touch you.”  He gasped quietly but began to unbuckle his belt while she watched breathlessly.  He reached to the back of his shirt and pulled it off over his head in a fluid movement that highlighted the supple muscles across his stomach and chest. Next he threw off his boots.  She hitched up her hips and pulled off her shorts as he took off his jeans, struggling not to tangle each other in the cramped space.  He was wearing just his boxers which did nothing to conceal his excitement and she raised herself onto her knees and palmed him through the thin fabric making him moan and tremble.  She hooked her thumbs around his waistband and pulled his underwear down, taking him in her hand firmly.  “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, “I want you so much.”  He groaned and reached out to her, placing the flat of his hand between her legs over her panties.</p><p>“Oh my God Betts.  You’re so wet.  Please, lie back.  Let me touch you.” She did as he asked and he pulled her underwear down her legs, discarding them impatiently.  He touched her with his hand, rubbing her where she was most sensitive, moving his fingers into her until she began to shake and keen and then he put his mouth on her, sucking gently until she imagined that there was no tent and she could look up directly into the night sky, the stars burning yellow all around them like a Van Gogh. </p><p>When she looked up at him he was kneeling over her so focused on her that her heart pushed against her ribs painfully. She needed to be closer to him.  “Condom” she whispered and he handed her one that he had clearly retrieved before taking off his jeans.  She knelt up, tearing open the foil with her teeth and rolling it down him in a smooth movement.  Then she swung a leg across his thighs. She took him in her hand and guided him until he was touching her and then she sank down slowly onto him, their chests flush, her eyes fixed on his.  There was no space between them, she felt as if they were one being.  She began to move against him, her pelvis pushing against his belly, her breasts against his chest, his lips on her neck, her hands in his hair.  She murmured nonsense words to him as she moved and he hummed against her throat.  She was already so sensitive that it didn’t take long before began to lose control and as she stuttered in her movements he began to moan with every thrust.  “Betts, I can’t hold on, fuck I’m sorry I …” and she felt him spasm and flinch.  It was the look of pure pleasure in his eyes that pushed her over the edge into her own climax and she sank onto him and he rolled them over before pulling out to dispose of the condom. “I’m sorry Betts, it’s been a long time. Did you..?”</p><p>“Hey stud.  You have nothing to be sorry about.  You just gave me two orgasms in twenty minutes.  Sexy and efficient.”</p><p>He laughed at that, relief and relaxation in his voice.  “It was so great Betts.  It’s not normally like that for me.  I’m usually so in my own head that I don’t…y’know…get there. But with you I’m trying to hold it off.  It was amazing.  You’re amazing.”</p><p>She slept like she hadn’t slept in years.  She may have been in a tent, on a groundsheet but she was in the arms of a man in whose embrace she could imagine spending every night.  She had absolutely no problem waking up to his hands on her either. After tender early morning sex he crawled out of the tent to take the pictures he’d come for, the pictures that she’d apparently distracted him from taking the night before.  </p><p>They spent the day exploring, swimming in a bend of the river, lying down amongst wild flowers and talking. He took more photographs as the sun set and she googled how to cook eggs on a campfire. They turned out pretty well. They made love and learned each other’s bodies. She found how to make him tremble and he learned how to make her weep with pleasure. She whispered “Let’s just stay forever.” </p><p>He turned to her and held her hand. “We can take it with us.”</p>
<p></p><blockquote><p>Dear Ms Cooper</p><p>Thank you for your article entitled “The Great American Wine Swindle.” The piece has now been approved by Time Magazine’s legal compliance department. It will appear in the October 4th issue of the magazine. Please find herewith our remittance of $3250 plus reimbursement for expenses. I have sent remittance to Mr Jones for his photographic contribution under separate cover. It appears that you have omitted to include accommodations for Mr Jones in your expenses claim and so I have simply doubled the amount claimed on your form. I hope this is acceptable.</p><p>On a related matter a staff writer position has become available as a consequence of the retirement of a colleague. If you would be interested in being considered for the position please email me a copy of your resumé at your earliest convenience.</p><p>Yours sincerely,</p><p>Oliver Jacobsen<br/>
Deputy Editor<br/>
Time Magazine</p>
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